


Black Sun, Blood Moon

by Cakkie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Guilt and Greif, Healing, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sleeping Together, slight romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakkie/pseuds/Cakkie
Summary: Geralt makes the hard decision to come clean with Jaskier about his past with Renfri. Together, they find a way to honor her.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Black Sun, Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Han Morricone (xXHanXx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXHanXx/gifts).



> So, first and foremost, I want to thank Han Morricone for the lovely fic prompt! I received a request for a Geralt/Jaskier fic where Geralt is sad and Jaskier tries to comfort him. So I thought, what would make Geralt sad? And the first thing that popped into my mind was Renfri. I hope I did the characters justice (I love Renfri, and wish she had more screen time!) 
> 
> Please enjoy. :)

“ _The girl in the woods will be with you always. She is your destiny_.”

“Renfri,” Geralt murmured. He shot straight up out of his bedroll and glanced at his surroundings.

Embers glowed a fiery red in the dark. No stars, no moon, lit the skies tonight. Free from sound and light, Geralt lay in complete darkness, deep in the woods. Yet his wolf eyes noticed Jaskier curled up on his side in order to keep warm. His breathing slow and even, the bard appeared to be in a deep state of sleep. Geralt heaved a sigh of relief. At least one of them would get a good rest tonight.

Resting on his elbows, Geralt tried to calm his erratic breathing. Another unpleasant dream, another memory. Lately, Geralt found his mind consumed with little else. The dreams were always the same, always of a past mistake. Of a wrong he could not undo to a mutant girl who deserved better than what life had dealt to her. Sometimes, in his dreams, their swords clashed in an enteral battle of hatred and sorrow. Whose hatred and sorrow Geralt could not say. Other times, he held Renfri in his arms, her warm brown eyes growing cold and vacant as she uttered her last words upon her dying breath. But the memory became too much, the pain too real. The lesser evil had become devoured by an even greater one.

“Fuck,” Geralt mumbled, reaching for his water canteen.

Jaskier stirred in his sleep. “Geralt?” he called, rubbing an eye. “Everything all right?”

Geralt held his breath and stilled. “Go back to sleep, Jaskier.” He spoke over his shoulder. Perhaps for once in his life the bard would listen. But Geralt’s hopes quickly diminished when Jaskier shifted and tossed his bedding to one side. No such chance.

Awake now, Jaskier came into a sitting position and ventured, “But you’re sweating.”

A sigh escaped his throat. “That’s because it’s stifling out,” Geralt insisted, wiping a cold sweat from his brow.

“No, it’s not. Geralt, come on, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

The soft concern in his voice became Geralt’s undoing. He hung onto Jaskier’s words a moment longer, uncertainty and shame making him tight lipped until he relented, “I can’t sleep.”

Jaskier was silent a moment longer until he asked, “Can’t? Or won’t?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. It was impressive how Jaskier somehow always knew the right thing to say when it mattered. The bard was more perceptive than people gave him credit. Soon, the tightness in shoulders lessened somewhat, and Geralt laid flat on his back once more.

“Both, I suppose,” he admitted in a low groan. The hard ground did not make for the most comfortable of beds, but over the years, Geralt slept on worse.

“Huh.” Jaskier mused. It sounded more like the bard had come to some silent conclusion on his own, leaving Geralt in the dark. Much to Geralt’s annoyance, Jaskier shuffled his bedroll closer and left it at that. He sighed dramatically once or twice before stretching out into a comfortable position next to Geralt.

“What?” Geralt croaked, shutting his eyes when Jaskier sighed once more.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jaskier reassured in his direction.

“No. But you’re thinking about something. Out with it, Jaskier, so we can both try to get some sleep before the night is over.”

“How—well, never mind. Geralt, you know you really ought to try to open up to your friends a little more,” Jaskier chided with the wave of his hand. “Your, ‘ _Hmm, I am ready to die_ ’ attitude is all well and fine when in a fight, but as your best friend in the whole wide world, you need to bit more receptive when someone, namely _me_ , your friend, is trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation with you.”

“I’m not your friend.”

The moment he let those words slip past his lips, Geralt instantly regretted it.

“Oh really?” Jaskier retorted not even the least bit swayed by the barb and rolled over onto one side, his head resting on his hand. “So, I suppose you just let any old stranger keep you up at night with tales of song and dance next to your bedroll, do you?”

“If need be,” Geralt answered without apology.

A strangled, horrified gasp came from Jaskier in the dark and Geralt broke out in a shit-eating grin. Trust Jaskier to lighten an otherwise damp mood.

“You know what you are?” Jaskier continued, his voice pitched.

“A Witcher.”

“Well, yes. That’s… true,” Jaskier admitted. “But I’m going to tell you what you are.”

Geralt groaned. And here came the lecture when all he wanted was blessed silence.

“You, my friend,” Jaskier said with a firm poke to his shoulder, “are a crabapple!”

Geralt turned his head to Jaskier. “A what?”

“A. Crab. Apple,” Jaskier repeated slower this time. “Do you know what that is, Mr. Cranky Pants?”

Of course, Geralt knew what a crabapple was. Tart and small, they grew ripe and plenty in the autumn months. Although said to cure fever and ease indigestion, Geralt never much cared for the taste of them. It was one thing to bite into the bitter tang of a crabapple, but another thing entirely for Jaskier to call him one.

He hummed low in his chest and Jaskier chuckled softly.

“What?”

“You’re thinking about it now, Mr. Crabapple,” he teased.

A roll of the eyes and Geralt grumbled, “Watch your mouth. I am not a crabapple. I just need some blessed silence and sleep to get me through tonight is all.”

Soon enough, Jaskier settled down and began to sing in Elder Speech. It was a soft melody. Sad and pretty. One sang two children during bedtime, or suckling babes at the breast by doting, nursing mothers. A foggy memory of a similar tune, being hummed by his mother at the hearth, while she stirred something in a pot caught his attention. But that memory was another lifetime ago. That little boy no longer existed. A Witcher had taken his place instead.

Content to lay there and listen, Geralt’s eyes shot wide open when Jaskier leaned over and placed a tentative hand on his brow. He smoothed back his hair in a gentle caress.

“Don’t… anger yourself over it.” Geralt heard Jaskier swallow but did nothing to stop or remove his hand and stroked Geralt as if petting a wild animal.

Geralt eyed him in the dark. While it was difficult to make out the bard’s face, Geralt kept silent and still. Against his better judgement, he did not want Jaskier to stop. He turned his gaze skyward and allowed Jaskier to card his fingers through his hair in gentle, easy strokes.

“My mother used to this for me when I was little,” Jaskier offered in the dark. “When I couldn’t sleep.”

“What was she like?” Geralt asked after a short while. “Your Ma?”

“Beautiful,” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt heard the smile in his voice. “All beasts loved her, even the wild ones. But she was always a little sad. Even when she sang.”

“Hmm.” Geralt let out a low breath. “Now I understand where you get it from.”

Jaskier made a sharp intake of breath.

“What precisely do you mean, Geralt?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Never mind.”

“ _Riiiight_. Okay then,” Jaskier announced and leaned in close. “Just shut your eyes and go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere. I’m your friend, remember?”

“Jaskier—”

“Shh! Didn’t you hear what I just said? Oh, fun,” he said lightly. “Let me guess. _You_ weren’t listening to a word I said as per usual, now were you?” Jaskier gave an exasperated sigh, and for once Geralt felt compelled to listen.

“Go to sleep, Geralt,” Jaskier soothed. “I’ll be here to shepherd your dreams until the morning light.”

If anyone else said that to him, Geralt would likely give them a punch to the gut, roll over, and leave it at that. But not Jaskier. There was a sincerity to his words, a softness to his voice and vulnerability behind his actions, which eased Geralt. He trusted Jaskier not to make fun. Geralt sank lower into his bedroll and relaxed.

“I… thank you, Jaskier,” he added after a few scant breaths.

Jaskier slowed his hand and said, “You’re welcome,” before starting up again.

Geralt closed his eyes. It was strange but soothing to have Jaskier of all people thread his fingers through his hair and hum lightly in the dark. For the first time since he could remember, Geralt closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, Geralt found Jaskier tightly curled around his body. To his surprise, he didn’t mind one bit. Instead, he felt refreshed and invigorated after such a deep and dreamless sleep. Perhaps having Jaskier close held the nightmares at bay.

Jaskier snored softly against his neck and drooled lightly onto Geralt’s tunic.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called while shaking him awake as he came up on his elbows.

With a snort and eyes shut, Jaskier shot up from his resting spot on Geralt’s chest and blurted, “Okay! I’m up!” Coming back to his senses, Jaskier rubbed his eyes open and blinked at his surroundings. “Oh, Geralt… hello. Is it time to go already?”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded. “I’ll get Roach. We have to catch the ferry before midday or the Drowner will have taken more lives by then.”

“Uh-huh. Right. The Drowner. A cruel, and mystical beast of legend who drags unsuspecting bathing beauties down to their watery deaths. Well, we still have plenty of time before that.” He yawned and stretched. “ _Toss a Coin to your Witcher, oh Valley of Plenty! Oh, Valley of Plenty, whoa-hoh_ ,” Jaskier sang as he shot to his feet to ready for their departure.

The early morning sun peaked through the canopy of trees. Soon, they would travel by boat across the rocky seas to the tiny fishing village where an old abandoned Elven cave awaited them on the coast. Geralt listened intently as Jaskier continued to sing. A slight smile spread across his lips. At the memory of Jaskier and the soft melody which soothed his nightmares and lulled him to sleep last night, Geralt became filled with a sense of peace. Perhaps having a bard for a companion wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

* * *

They made the ferry in time. Geralt calmly ushered Roach down below deck where all the other animals and horses stayed while on their safe passage across the sea.

A cool wind picked up from the ocean currents, which sent a chill straight to his bones. Geralt stood and watched Jaskier hold on to the ship’s railing as the wind danced in his hair. A distant, faraway look in his eyes, the bard glanced over the wavy waters. Jaskier turned, and Geralt noticed his eyes were as blue and lonely as the ocean.

 _Beautiful._ The thought hit Geralt hard, and he swallowed.

A hard lump formed in his throat. Had he just mentally referred to the bard as beautiful? Yes. Yes, he had. Geralt held his breath and pushed such thoughts aside. Now was not the time to dwell on his traveling companion in such a manner.

“Do you miss it?” Jaskier asked as Geralt came to stand beside him, all imposing in his black armor.

Geralt frowned. “Miss what?”

“Your home.” Jaskier turned. “Or wherever it is your from. You know, you never told me about it. Come to think of it, there are a great many things you never told me about.”

A memory of Kaer Morhen and its stone fortress with endless halls and caverns entered his mind. One day he would return there, but not now. “Hmm. I guess some things aren’t worth mentioning.”

“That’s not true.” Geralt watched Jaskier toy with a button on his shirt before he piped up with, “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Who’s Renfri?”

Geralt went rigid. An icy chill, one which came not from the wind, danced down his spine. He white-knuckled the railing and became tight lipped. He planned to keep Renfri safe in his memory and not tarnish her name into a falsified story for the taverns.

“I only ask because you kept calling her name last night,” Jaskier offered gently.

Fuck.

Tight lipped and head bowed, Geralt remained speechless. He glanced out at the ocean. The ferry bobbed and rocked as it sailed smoothly along the water. Jaskier said nothing. He seemed to be waiting. Geralt spared a quick glance over to the bard, and sure enough, Jaskier’s calm, waiting expression reassured Geralt. His blue eyes kind and patient.

Geralt swallowed. He didn’t know why, but he recounted out loud from memory, “Renfri was a princess.”

He expected Jaskier to bombard him with a dozen questions. Instead, the bard just waited patiently for Geralt to continue while the words became stuck in his throat.

“She was cursed.” He spoke out to the ocean. Somehow it was easier this way. “A mutant born under a black sun and buried under a blood moon. Deemed a monster, she lived her life as one. The lesser of two evils. I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what the fuck I thought. I tried to get her to leave town unharmed. But we crossed swords. I killed her in battle.”

There, he said it. The long-suffering weight finally lifted from his shoulders. A secret he believed he’d take to his grave finally out in the open, Geralt waited for Jaskier to say something, anything but the silence stretched on.

People walked the deck. Some talked. Some laughed as they sat and drank on the benches. But the only sound Geralt noticed beyond the lapping of the waves on the side of the boat was the steady beating of his own heart.

“I’m sure there must have been a reason,” came Jaskier’s soft reply. “For her life to end that way. Geralt, you cannot blame yourself. If Renfri intended to kill you, then there was little else you could have done to stop her.”

“I should have tried harder,” he admitted more to himself than to Jaskier. The mounting tension in his shoulders eased. Jaskier did not seem to hate him. Instead, he listened with a sympathetic ear and offered his support. Yet Geralt still did not meet Jaskier’s eyes. He reached into his pouch and held the jeweled sword brooch in his hands.

“This…” He passed it to Jaskier. “It belonged to her.”

Geralt watched Jaskier marvel over the way the brooch caught in the light. “It’s beautiful. I am sure she must have been too.”

“Hmm,” he agreed. “She was. A better swordsman than any man I fought.” Geralt smirked at the memory.

“Then perhaps you should keep it safe… somewhere where it’s not so hidden. Pinned to your chest, maybe? Or even to your sword, perhaps? That way, it’s almost like she’s fighting right alongside you, not tucked away in a pocket… and forgotten.”

Surprised by the suggestion, it was reassuring to know Jaskier supported him. He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and faced the bard.

“And, you don’t have to worry either,” Jaskier added, handing back the brooch to Geralt. “I won’t turn what you’ve told me into another old song and dance.”

Geralt raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You won’t?”

“No. Some things are too personal to mention.” Honesty and tenderness lay awash in his voice, and Geralt became moved by it. “I won’t say anything. That’s a promise you can count on.”

“Hmm. All right, then.” He quirked a brow. “This monster agrees to your promise.”

Amusement tugged at the corners of his lips as Geralt watched Jaskier struggle to come up with the right thing to say.

“But you’re not a monster,” Jaskier declared softly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt announced, his body lax and free from tension. “I’m a monster who hunts other monsters for coin. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“That’s not true!” he cried. “You’re more than that, Geralt. You’re my… friend, for starters. What are names, identity, labels, anyway?” Jaskier mused with the flick of his hand. “It’s all bunch of hogwash if you ask me.”

The boat rocked, and Geralt hummed in agreement. Something warmed in his chest, and it wasn’t the first time Geralt felt glad to have Jaskier in his life.

“Right. Good. I am glad we are on the same page then.” Jaskier rocked back and forth on his heels along with the ferry. “I’ll make a promise not to turn what you told me into song and story, and you promise not to call yourself a monster. Deal?”

He couldn’t stop the smile which formed on his lips. “Hmm. Deal.”

“And as for Renfri, your fallen princess, I want you to remember her. Not for the black sun, blood moon part, but for how she lived. Understand?”

Geralt more than liked that idea. He nodded once more.

“Alright, then. Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do. We need to seal the deal with a kiss.” Before Geralt could stop him, Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face in his hands and pressed a soft kiss, sweet and lingering, to his lips.

When Jaskier backed away, a teasing glint to his eyes, Geralt scolded, “No one seals a deal with a kiss, Jaskier!”

“Yeeeeah.” He smirked. “You’re probably right about that. But it couldn’t hurt, right? What, with all that destiny, heroics, and heartbreak bit that keeps following you around and such, I thought I’d try my luck. Anyway,” his voice softened. “I’m glad you told me about Renfri. Anytime you need a friend, Geralt, I’m here for you. Anytime.”

And with that, Jaskier picked up his lute and wandered through the crowd of passengers singing about a rowdy pirate and a mermaid.

Geralt turned back to face the waters. The mood lightened and the sun broke through the clouds. He held the last remaining piece of Renfri held carefully in his hands and mulled over what Jaskier said to him. Placing Renfri’s brooch to his sword took him by surprise. But the more Geralt thought about it, the more it appealed to him. He hummed in thought. Together, with her emblem and his sword, Renfri would live on in memory.

His eyes found Jaskier singing from across the hull. The bard leaned against the wooden stern as he sang, strumming his lute. While unexpected, the kiss had not been unwelcomed. Geralt pressed his fingers to his lips. If Jaskier wanted to try it again, he would not be opposed to the idea.

“ _The girl in the woods will be with you always. She is your destiny_.”

Last words, whispered like a prophecy by a fallen princess, played again in his mind. What Renfri meant by them, Geralt could only guess. He did not understand, but intended to one day find out. As to why not tell Jaskier, well, like Jaskier said, some things were too personal to mention. For now at least, Geralt planned to keep it secret. Only when he had it figured out, would Geralt talk with Jaskier. Until then, while under a black sun and blood moon, they would face the monsters of this world and remember those who died.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have no idea if Renfri died under a Blood Moon. I took creative liberty with that part! Also, after thinking about it, while he only knew her a short while, I think Renfri meant a great deal to Geralt. I always wondered how her brooch came to be on Geralt's sword. I loved that the show runners decided to do that... Anyway, in my head, Jaskier and Geralt are pretty much married (lol), so I think Jaskier would be incredibly sweet and supportive over learning about Renfri. Also, I am still taking story requests during this scary and uncertain time. Stay save and stay healthy everyone!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading!


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